The Science of Induction
by JennyMoriarty
Summary: Sherlock/Doctor Who crossover. "Sherlock, why is there a telephone box in our kitchen?"
1. Chapter 1

_****I can't stop, so don't even ask me to try. Bit of Sherlock/Doctor Who because, well, who wouldn't? Tally-Ho!_

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><p><em><strong>The Science of Induction<strong>_.

Sherlock Holmes wandered aimlessly around flat 221B, holding his violin in one hand and its bow in the other. Something was troubling him; he just couldn't put his finger on what. Something was wrong. Something was different. What? What was it? What?

"Sherlock?" A familiar voice filled Sherlock's mind, a voice he both respected and was easily irritated by.

"Not now, John. There's something wrong."

"Yes, there's-"

"Ssh." Sherlock put a finger to his lips, his bow almost hitting him in the face in the process. He didn't notice.

"Sherlock. Why is there-"

"Honestly, John. I'm trying to think. Do you have any idea how hard it is to _try_ to think, when you're so used to your brain just doing that part for you?"

"Oh, none at all." John muttered sarcastically before turning his back to Sherlock. "But, really, Sherlock, why is there-"

"NOT NOW, JOHN." Sherlock practically threw his violin and bow down onto his chair in exasperation. "Something is wrong. What is it? What's wrong? John? What is it that's wrong?" He held up a hand. "Don't answer that, you're wrong."

John rolled his eyes and stepped into the kitchen, his eyes curiously scanning the object in his path.

"Don't you feel it, John? In the air, the atmosphere is different. The wind; it's changed..."

"Mary Poppins coming round for a cuppa, then? Should I inform Missus Hudson?" John threw a glance at the genius, before eyeing the object again.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "A cup of tea would be lovely, two sugars."

"Sherlock-"

"What, John?" Sherlock turned to look at John with icy eyes. John turned away from the object in order to raise an eyebrow at his flat mate. "What could possibly be so important that you must insist on interrupting me when I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with the world? Not that there isn't everything wrong with the world, but one problem at a time. What is it?" Sherlock stared at John harshly, but John just gave him a sort-of shrug, pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the object in the kitchen.

"Why is there a telephone box in our kitchen?" He asked, though not very interestedly. "That's all I want to know."

"Please John; it's a Police Public Call Box not a telephone box." Sherlock muttered arrogantly, putting a hand to his forehead in an effort to block John's voice from his thoughts.

"My apologies," John said, clasping his hands together in front of his body and rocking back onto his heels. "Why is there a _Police Box _in our kitchen?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said, his head still in his hand. "It just sort-of appeared." He waved his hand dismissively for a moment before returning it to his forehead.

"Appeared?" John asked sceptically.

"Yes, _appeared_, John. As in, it wasn't here one moment and then it was the next. Now please, do you mind? I'm trying to think."

"There are more pressing issues than the fact that a giant box just happened to "appear" in our kitchen?" John nodded his head. "Okay." He had learned fairly quickly that arguing with Mister Holmes was pointless and a waste of efforts. So instead, he just picked up his laptop, sat on his chair and waited for Sherlock to notice the fact that-

"John," Sherlock looked up from his hand, wide-eyed. "There's a Police Box in our kitchen."

Ah, there it was.

John just nodded.

"Yes, Sherlock. There is." He said nonchalantly, before resuming his clicking at his laptop keyboard.

Sherlock all but ran toward the object, his eyes still wide and John watched him from over his laptop screen with amusement.

"Police Public Call Box," Sherlock muttered, his hands making their way over the wooden object. "This is what's wrong." He stated.

John nodded again. "You've finally noticed that there's a giant blue box in our kitchen. Well done." He said in a somewhat sarcastic, but somewhat fond tone.

"No, no," Sherlock stood back, away from the object. "The box itself is wrong." He looked at John lazily, like John was the epitome of stupid and there was an awkward pause.

"Well, come here, then." Sherlock may as well have demanded. John did as he was told, joining Sherlock in the small kitchen and wondering how Sherlock hadn't yet noticed that all of his experiments had been crushed by the gigantic box. Surely, he would go ballistic once he saw. John would make a point not to be around for that.

"It's not real," Sherlock began, hoping that, for once, John would be able to keep up. "It's the wrong shade of blue, firstly. The windows are misshapen, the light at the top is wrong. It looks like it should be from about..." He looked it over once more. "Nineteen-sixty-three—maybe four-, but none of the police boxes from then had these-" He pointed to the Saint John Ambulance sticker on the second panel from the top. "-issued on them." He turned to John. "Also, there's one very obvious tell tale sign that this isn't a real police box. One even you must see."  
>John glanced between the box and his crazy housemate, not even bothered that he should probably be offended by that remark.<p>

"I don't know." He shrugged.

"C'mon, John! Think!" Sherlock turned back to the box.

"It's in our kitchen?" John asked, hopefully.

Sherlock said nothing, but gave him a menacing glare. That, in itself, told John that he had the wrong answer.

"Okay," John held up his hands. "Obviously not, then."

"Put your hand on it." Sherlock told him. John did as he was told, then looked to Sherlock for some form of explanation. "What do you feel?" Sherlock asked.

"Um..." John faltered and Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. "It's... Smooth? I don't know."

"_Exactly!_" Sherlock grinned. "It's _smooth_!"

John looked at him once more for divine inspiration, although he really wasn't interested at all in this box. Only in how it managed to get into his house.

Sherlock eyed John gleefully. "And since when is the wood from a police box smooth?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Mondo thanks to everyone who favourited, alerted or reviewed this story; it gives me warm fuzzies! Also, if you're a fan of Jim/Molly, I've another story called 'Anti-Ordinary' (which is mostly just a humour fic) and I would be honoured if you would check it out. Muchos gracias! ~Hayley (JJ)._

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><p><strong>2.<strong>

The Doctor fumbled around the TARDIS, looking for some source of light. A torch, perhaps. Or even a candle would do. He knew he should've put one where it could be found easily if needed but, really, when did the TARDIS lights ever go out upon landing? Never. That's when.

"Okay," The Doctor began reasoning with himself. "There was a big bang and then the lights went out." He scratched his head. "That's probably not good-no, that's _definitely _not good." He reached into his pocket and snatched his Sonic Screwdriver, using its light to attempt to see around the TARDIS interior. Green. Not a good colour for the TARDIS, he decided. He used the Sonic to guide himself towards the TARDIS console, almost tripping over his own feet twice on the way there.  
>"And The Doctor said 'let there be light'," He flicked a switch.<br>Nothing happened. "And there... _Wasn't?" _His brow furrowed. "What?" He Sonic-ed a few things here and there, as per usual when he didn't know what to do, and still nothing. "Right then." He said, looking towards the door. "Time to see what's out there." He glided towards the door in a way only The Doctor could. "This could be extraordinarily dangerous." He said to no-one in particular. "Cool."

The Doctor pulled a stethoscope from his inner pocket—it had been a while since he'd used it but, if your pockets are bigger on the inside, it's always handy to have around. Placing it against the door, he shushed the room. "Quiet," He whispered. "Ssh." Listening intently, he could just make out bits and pieces of what someone—or some_thing_—was saying on the other side of the TARDIS.

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><p>"Sherlock," John looked, rather curiously at his housemate. "Does it really matter whether or not this thing is real?" He stepped away from the box, but never moved his eyes off of his friend. "Shouldn't the question be what it's doing in our kitchen?"<br>"You always ask the wrong questions, John." Sherlock sighed. "No wonder you never get anywhere."  
>John made a point not to be offended by that comment and instead just rolled his eyes and scoffed lightly.<br>"Well," He said, rather stubbornly. "Let me know when you figure out why the box being a fake is important. I'll be down in the cafe. Okay?"  
>A pause.<br>"Okay?"  
>No response.<br>"Sherlock."  
>Again, nothing.<br>"Yeah, alright then." John said wistfully. "I'm taking your card. Might do a bit of shopping. Maybe get myself one of those electric razors..." Still no response. "Or a new phone..." Nothing. "Or a _car_."  
>"Get yourself a call girl if you wish, John. Whatever you like, just once you stop talking." Sherlock told John in a monotonous tone.<br>"Right." John muttered, heading for the door. "I'll see you later, then." He grabbed his coat, and half-slammed the door behind himself.  
>"Laterz!" Sherlock called; his hands moving up to his chin, all the while never taking his eyes off the Police Box.<p>

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><p>Almost fifteen minutes of intense staring had passed before Sherlock pressed his ear to the door of the Police Box. "What the..." He trailed, hearing the low hum of an engine coming from its interior. He took a step back from the box, giving it a once over with his pale green eyes. "What on earth is inside you?"<p>

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><p>The Doctor jumped as the lights in the TARDIS shimmered back to life. It was only momentary, however, for, no sooner were they lit, than the TARDIS went dull again. "What's wrong with you, then? Eh, Sexy?" He asked, scanning the area around himself. Putting his stethoscope back in his interior pocket, he skipped towards the TARDIS console. Stoking it gently, his brow furrowed. It was stone cold. In fact, he realised, taking a step back out of shock, it <em>was<em> stone. "What?" He dropped to his knees, frantically trying to find the source of this wizardry. "No, this can't-"  
>But he was cut off, mid sentence, by a knocking on the TARDIS door. His head snapped around to face the door, and he shut his eyes; praying to whatever god that would listen to him that he had miscounted the knocks. But, of course, he knew that he hadn't.<p>

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

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><p>Sherlock knocked at the door of the Police Box and then straightened up. He knew he was being ridiculous- knocking on the door of a Police Box for crying out loud—but, no sooner had he done it, he regretted it.<br>"John?" He called apprehensively, as the room went cold around him and the lights went out. He looked around the flat, his eyes darting into corners and narrowing at the shadows. He'd never been a superstitious person but, even as a sceptic, he knew that this _couldn't_ be good.

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><p><em>Thanks again for reading, guys! It means the world. :)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Oh, lawd, this chapter is so short and I'm so sorry. This is, literally, the shortest thing I think I've ever written, and it's shameful. I've just got exams to study for at the moment, and uni is taking up more of my time than it usually does. The next chapter will be better (and longer), I promise. Don't hate me._

**3.**

Slowly, tentatively and a little fearfully, The Doctor made his way towards the TARDIS doors. Before he reached them, however, he noticed the frightful cold that had taken over the TARDIS and his thoughts immediately went to the Dream-Lord. He shook his head. No, there hadn't been any birds or any feeling of immense tiredness like there had been the last time. He willed himself not to give into the thought that it could possibly be the Master. But, at the same time, he couldn't deny the sheer power that it would've taken to shut off the TARDIS like this. He, once again, used his Sonic to guide himself to the door. "I'm not afraid of the dark." He muttered to himself, listening intently for the sound of drumming. "But I _am_ afraid of what's in it."

Sherlock backed away from the Police Box. His eyes flitted around the room, before he turned to glace out of the windows. His eyes then narrowed at the sky which had, rather quickly, turned a murky grey colour and the rain was now belting down menacingly.  
>"J-John?" He called again, but to no avail. He attempted once, twice, three times to ring John, but the phone lines must've been down due to the impending storm. "I'm not afraid of the dark." He scolded himself, unable to contain a little jump as a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning filled the sky and illuminated the flat. His eyes, once again, darted to the shadows, which were spreading through the flat in the most sinister of fashions. Sherlock looked to the Police Box again before lowering his voice dangerously at it. "What the <em>hell<em> are you?"

"Vashta Nerada." The Doctor mumbled, glancing around the utter blackness. "An infestation of Vashta Nerada." He decided. Not the Dream-Lord, not the more probable conclusion of the Master. The Vashta Nerada; he could handle. "Right!" He nodded to himself, throwing his Sonic up into the air and catching it expertly as it landed; despite the darkness. "Let's-" He put his hand on the TARDIS door handle. "Go?" His eyes widened as he realised that the stone had spread to the door. He soniced it a few times before an even bigger realisation hit him.  
>He was trapped.<p>

Sherlock tried John's phone again, but there wasn't even a dial tone at this point. The storm was really picking up outside, flinging lose bits of chip-paper and leaves and other meaningless objects against the windows. The lights weren't working anymore either, and Sherlock had used any candles he owned in random experiments a long time ago.  
>"Mrs. Hudson!" He called, grabbing his coat and scarf. "I'm going out!"<br>"In this weather, love?" A voice asked, though he couldn't quite place what direction it had come from.  
>"I need to find John!" He called back again, placing his hand on the door. Suddenly, though, a realisation dawned on him and he stood bolt-upright with apprehension.<br>Today was the first Tuesday of the month. Every first Tuesday of a month, Mrs. Hudson would visit her niece in Chiswick. Sherlock had waved her goodbye this morning.  
>Mrs. Hudson wasn't even there.<p>

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><p><em>Gah,<em> _please don't hate me too much. The next chapter will be less suckish-campers' honour._


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